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<title>A Night That Lasts Forever Onward by Gabrielle</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272258">A Night That Lasts Forever Onward</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabrielle/pseuds/Gabrielle'>Gabrielle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Profiler (TV 1996)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:41:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabrielle/pseuds/Gabrielle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The artists of murder don't die when you expect them to and one night stands aren't always as short as they're cracked up to be.</p>
<p>*sequel to Tryst: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28197279*</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack of All Trades/Francis Malone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Profiler Fans - Holiday 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Night That Lasts Forever Onward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/empty_marrow/gifts">empty_marrow</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frannie Malone might not be a pre-med student, or even a pre-pre-med student, but she’s definitely a MEN student and she knows damn good and well that weedy, balding, shriveled-up old guys will do anything for the chance to bang nubile young hotties, even if those guys are also doctors. Some might see giving her body to someone decrepit and gross as a sacrifice, but hey, given the fact that it took all of eight minutes of her time, including the pre-event lap dance, she’s not crying about it. Besides, how else could she have gotten someone to…</p>
<p>“There. I got the bullet out. I don’t think there are any fragments to worry about. He should wake up soon. I… He should stay in bed for a few days before he moves.” The voice is shaky, and not just from age and exhaustion. Guess she needs to bolster this guy’s… resolve.</p>
<p>“Everything’s gonna be just fine, Sidney,” she coos, slinking over to him, hips switching with a fluidity a stripper would envy. </p>
<p>“If anyone finds out…”</p>
<p>“Relax, baby,” she purrs, low and husky, a voice full of manufactured lust and very real memory (though the memory isn’t of him), “I’m not gonna say anything… to anyone.” She reaches down… down… “And I know you won’t either. Right, big Sid?”</p>
<p>He stammers again, “Well… I’d better… I…”</p>
<p>Nod, smile, switch those hips one more time. One last kiss with a thanks from her to whoever invented mouthwash afterwards. Then he’s gone. Back to the wife and the weekend golf – but with the memory of something guys like him never get and an envelope full of extra cash he won’t be declaring to the IRS.</p>
<p>The figure on the bed, pale and blond and surprisingly fragile-looking, moans softly as she emerges from the small bathroom - towel wrapped around her head, wearing nothing but panties. She remembers a moan of a very different timbre once and she wonders if he’s thought of her anywhere near as often as she’s thought of him since that one night in the bland hotel room. The night when he said her name as if she was hearing it for the first time. Maybe she was.</p>
<p>She hasn’t been the same girl since. Or, maybe more accurately, she’s finally herself, the self that she always was but never knew until she saw her reflection in those ice blue eyes. He was inside her in ways no fuck could ever equal.</p>
<p>Equal.</p>
<p>Will he finally realize that he had it then? Not Samantha “dull as dish” Waters, but… </p>
<p>She unwraps the towel and vigorously rubs her hair before wrapping the towel around her body. She’s Frances now, not Frannie.<br/>She is Frances (the name she hasn’t allowed anyone else, not even her father, to call her since that night) Malone. Problem child but the answer to all of Jack’s. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He moans again and his eyes flutter open.</p>
<p>“You’re awake,” she says in a voice devoid of the whorish tricks she’d used on Sidney Donaldson, MD. It’s the voice she found in Jack’s bed. The one she only hears when she’s alone and talks to herself now… or rather <i>until</i> now.</p>
<p>“I take it I’m not in Heaven.” His voice is pain-choked and effortful, but it’s still the voice of a man only Nietzsche could understand.</p>
<p>A short chuckle, husky, but not risqué. “You wouldn’t find <i>me</i> there.”</p>
<p>Then there’s a shadow across his face and those eyes go almost black. It would be astonishing in anyone but Jack, but Jack is someone of whom anything can be believed. “She shot me.”</p>
<p>“Sure did,” Frances agrees, giddy because Jack didn’t speak the name that has always been the wall between them. Has it finally tumbled down?  </p>
<p>“How did I get here?”</p>
<p>For a moment, she thinks of lying, or at least omitting some key details, but she’s not Samantha, or Sharon, and she knows what Jack does – bodies are there to be used and it’s better if you’re clever enough to use your own yourself instead of leaving it to others to find its purpose.</p>
<p>“I blew the ambulance guys and the guy at the coroner’s office. Spread a little of your money around.” She still can’t believe none of those doofuses at the VCTF paid any attention to Jack’s accounts, but she’s grateful they were too focused on their precious Samantha Waters to think. “Gave some more of it to this doc I know before I fucked him to seal the deal. So now, here you are, good as new. Oh, and don’t worry. Some homeless guy’s body is being cremated under your name, so no one will be any the wiser.” She chuckles again. “I think that creepy coroner liked the idea of being part of the ‘Jack of All Trades story.’”</p>
<p>He looks at her – eyes sharp and knowing. For a split second she’s terrified he’s judging her.</p>
<p>He is, but not in the way she feared. </p>
<p>A smile, and suddenly his face is beautiful again. “Good girl,” he purrs. It’s the same tone he used that night years ago and she drinks it in like a benediction – anointed. She smiles like a little girl, eyes gleaming like a little bitch. She is both now. Forever.</p>
<p>“This place is safe for a few days. The doc says you need to take it easy for now.”</p>
<p>“You trust him?”</p>
<p>She rolls her eyes and undoes her towel, letting it fall to the floor. “I made a video just in case,” she admits, “… of him operating on you.”</p>
<p>Jack’s eyes are full of awe and wonder and the ecstasy that washes over her makes the meagerness of orgasms past seem pathetic. To find such favor in the eyes of a god… pretty sure the Greeks must have a word for it. She’ll learn it someday.</p>
<p>“We’ll go somewhere. When I’m strong again. After…” The last words went unspoken, but she knows what he means. There are loose ends to tie up. Maybe now’s the time to tell him about her hobby.</p>
<p>“You know something else about me? Coroners and paramedics aren’t the only things I know how to blow.” Jack looks at her curiously and she rolls her eyes, but she forgives his lapse. He just came back from the almost-dead. So she explains. “There’s something to be said for having a father in the FBI. It’s amazing how much useful information is right there on our home computer. Like about Timothy McVeigh.”</p>
<p>There’s that benediction again. She smiles back. Little girl. Little bitch.</p>
<p>A week or so and another explosive tragedy will take over the news cycle and after an appropriately tearful appearance at a bunch of funerals, Frannie Malone will be gone.</p>
<p>She’ll be Frances… something. But last names don’t matter. Only what she’ll be forever after.</p>
<p>Jack’s girl. Jack’s bitch.</p>
<p>He smiles again and his eyes are full of truth.</p>
<p>She’s his and he knows it as well as she does.</p>
<p>This is how it was always meant to be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The End.</p>
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